


me, myself, & i

by partlycharlie



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Coma, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Epilepsy, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Phandom Reverse Bang, Phandom Reverse Bang 2018, Suicide Attempt, also not really, also:, hell yeah, kind of? not really, obviously, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-05-04 10:31:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14591094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partlycharlie/pseuds/partlycharlie
Summary: "God, you fucking dumbass."Dan sat up, looking around in confusion. "Phil? Is that you? Where am I?"Phil sighed. "You're in a coma. Congrats."(or: dan is sad and phil is a coping mechanism)





	1. diagnosis

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first fic for the [phandom reverse bang 2018](http://phandomreversebang.tumblr.com)!  
> my artist was [ughh-its-leah](http://ughh-its-leah.tumblr.com) \- the ultimate goddess, i love you so much - and my beta was [artlessdynamic](http://artlessdynamic.tumblr.com) \- thank you so much for your last minute edits! any mistakes are mine and mine alone :')
> 
> disclaimer: a couple things! one: obviously none of this is real, this is a work of fiction, etc. two: please do NOT use this as ANY sort of guide in relation to what mental illness is like. dan's illness is VAGUELY based off of DID (dissociative identity disorder), with a mild case of epilepsy that flares up when dan and phil switch. however: this is not meant to be a representation of what DID or epilepsy is like, these are only vague diagnoses and were purposely not entirely accurate.
> 
> ALSO. while thinking: phil's thoughts look like _this_ , and dan's thoughts look like _'this'_.
> 
> with that in mind: hope you enjoy!!

“Bipolar disorder.”

“ _What?_ ”

Dan shook his head, brown curls shaking across his forehead as his glabella (ha, thanks Phil) creased in confusion. Pianist’s ( _oh, yeah, sure, keep using_ that _description. Totally accurate._ ) fingers tapped gently against the soft brown fabric of his chair.

Dr. Warren, the psychiatrist Dan had been meeting with every month for the past year, shrugged. “Based on what you’ve told us - and assuming there’s nothing you’ve been hiding -” (here he glares disappointedly at Dan, because _of course_ ) “- this seems most reasonable. If I could diagnose you with something like baby bipolar, I would, because some of the symptoms don’t fit - your manic episodes aren’t nearly as extreme as most of the patients I see with this diagnosis, and the depressive episodes seem to last longer than normal - most are about a month, yeah?”

Dan nodded, all of the questions he wanted to ask still stuck on the tip of his tongue.

“Right. But again, seeing as you’re not dealing with the aftermath of any traumatic events, and - at least according to mine and Rebecca’s observations -” ( _right, because of course they’re_ always _so accurate_ ) “- there’s are no signs of auditory or visual hallucinations, or anything else like that - well. This is what we’re sticking with.” Dr. Warren smiled, tiny lines gently creasing the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes.

Yikes. Auditory and visual hallucinations? What kind of crazy did Dr. Warren think he was?

_Listen, you know better than anyone that they're just trying to cover all their bases._

He knew that, obviously.

“Obviously this is subject to change, yeah? If any new symptoms pop up, or you stop having episodes, then you just let me know. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, yeah?”

Dan nodded again, shorter this time, fingers continuing to tap restlessly against the arm of his chair. Something didn’t feel right about this.

_Well, obviously. That’s because the diagnosis isn’t right, dumbass. You know that._

Dan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

 _‘Yeah, I’m well aware’,_ he thought, and could almost feel the weight of Phil’s sigh on his chest.

“… but! That would lead to a pretty consistent feeling of drowsiness throughout the day, so I would suggest taking them right before bed, if you can.”

Dan shook his head, waving the cobwebs out from his mind. “Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “got lost for a minute there. What’d you say?”

The grey-haired doctor smiled again, this one filled with just a bit more pity than the last.

“I was just saying that I’d like to discuss possible routes for the future. Obviously we’ll be continuing the bi-monthly therapy sessions, as those seem to help maintain your level of mental stability -“ ( _not that there’s much to maintain, anyway_ ) “- so. What to you think? You can keep seeing Rebecca and introduce medications, maybe, and see how it goes from there?”

Dan rubbed a hand over his face, thinking hard.

_Don’t do it, asswit._

_‘Why not?’_

_Well, one, you’re not fucking bipolar._

_‘Point.’_

_Two, what if it’s poisoned? Then you die. Then I die. I don’t want to die!_

_‘… point.’_

_Plus. Plus! What if it doesn’t do shit!_

_‘Eh. Point.’_

“Okay. Sounds like a good idea. Let’s - go for it. I guess?” Dan put on his best smile, watching as Dr. Warren started typing rapidly on the computer.

“Lovely. I'll set you up with the prescription, and you can…”

_Wow. Fuck you, I guess._

_‘Love you too, Phil.’_

\---

A key pressed into a lock. Steady fingers pushing it through, to the side. A split second of deafening silence - the quiet _click_ of the unlocking door. Wide-cut shoulders pushing the door open; long legs walking their way into the apartment, up the stairs, in the door, and -

_‘Are you done yet?’_

Phil sighed.

“You know I like to have this time to myself without you interjecting,” he said out loud, kicking the door shut with the heel of one foot.

_‘Yeah, well, I saw one of the neighbors looking at us weird because you walk like a retard, so. Whose fault is that, again?’_

“There are a lot of problems with that statement,” Phil muttered, raising an eye at himself in the hallway mirror. “For one, how many times are we going to have the ‘don’t use retard unless we’re talking about ourselves talk?’”

_‘At least five. Ballpark estimate.’_

“Why are you using American metaphors?”

_‘Why not?’_

“Point.” Phil shrugged his jacket off. “But! You distracted me, Asshole. Also - how is it my fault that we walk differently?”

_‘Because we’re not actually different people? I feel like this is obvious.’_

“Okay, yeah. Sure.” Phil sighed again (he was noticing a theme here). “Still? I feel like, me being an _aspect of your personality_ or whatever they’d call it, like. I represent your shitty side, right?”

_‘That is… factually correct, okay.’_

“So, like, shouldn’t everything about me represent that? Like, when you picture me, do you see you?”

_‘No, of course not. That’d be ridiculous.’_

“Right! So -” Phil stopped short, almost tripping over the corner of his table. “Wait. What _do_ you picture me as?”

_‘Um.’_

Phil could feel Dan trying to retreat into the back of his mind. “Oh, no no no, you are _not_ getting out of this one. Who do you picture me as?”

Dan sighed, and Phil felt his chest expand with it.

_‘Fine. Whatever. So, um. Do you - I don’t know if you know anything from before I found out about you, but. Do you remember that old Youtube guy?’_

“No…“ Phil stretched out the word, then paused again when he realized - shit, that old Youtube guy was -

“MOTHERFUCKER.”

_‘Jesus FUCKING Christ, Phil, what the hell?’_

“Sorry, sorry - this fucking table screwed me over.”

_‘Ew.’_

Phil snorted, rubbing his shin to feel for where the bruise was probably starting to form. Not there, not there, not - Phil let out a hiss of breath. There it is.

_‘Why do you always do that?’_

“Do what?” Phil sat down on the couch, feeling his thighs sink into the cushion.

_'Rub the bruises.’_

He glanced at the pharmacy bag in his hands, then pulled the handles apart to peer inside. “Um. I like pain? I don’t know.”

_‘Ew.’_

“Yeah, yeah.” Phil rubbed a hand down his face, pushing his eye into his forearm to rub the imaginary eyelash out. “You want to eat something?”

A snort came out of his throat, unbidden. _‘When do I not?’_

Phil patted his tummy and let go, a shiver running down his spine as Dan spun to the forefront.

Dan felt his body shake slightly as he took control of his senses. The pharmacy bag, still clutched tightly in his hand, trembled with the shock. Pills rattled inside their bottles, and the noise felt like a blaring siren in his ears.

Dan rolled his eyes once the shivering had stopped. “Can you _please_ stop doing that without any warning?”

_Not my fault it hurts more for you than it does for me._

Dan's nostrils flared. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, dropping the crumpled bag next to him.

_Listen, my friend, all I’m trying to say is that you're… weak. Yeah, that's pretty much it._

“Thanks, asshole.”


	2. medication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Holy shit!” Dan paused in his tracks. He felt the light tap-tap-tap of Phil stop too. 
> 
> _What?_
> 
> “It's the medication.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i didn't think it would take this long to write another goddamn chapter
> 
> also ! hhhhh this should be longer but i'm tired so Oh Well
> 
>  
> 
> _phil_  
>  _'dan'_
> 
>  
> 
> hope yall enjoy

Dan narrowed his eyes. “This is taking too long.”

_A watched pot never boils. Isn't that how the saying goes?_

Dan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but… I want my fucking pasta!”

_You're such a child, Dan._

“This coming from you, the literal manifestation of my subconscious. If I'm a child, then so are you, y’know.”

Phil sighed, and Dan crinkled his nose at the way the air swept through his chest. It felt like tea spilling down his throat, but he hadn't had the chance to cool it down yet, so it was just boiling water. Ugh.

_I'm perfectly aware of what I am in comparison to you. However -_

_‘However,’_ Dan mouthed to himself, twisting his face into a mockery of what he imagined Phil probably looked like.

_\- however. That doesn't change the fact that you are acting like an impatient child, and you've somehow managed to forget during the course of this conversation the very point of it, which is that you have NOW BOILING WATER ON THE STOVE, DAMN IT._

Dan winced at the feeling of Phil screaming, rubbing his forehead, where a tiny metaphysical knife had embedded itself into his skin. “Geesh, no need to yell.”

_The water was starting to evaporate, you idiot._

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan grumbled, pouring the box of mac and cheese into his pot, and watching as the water calmed down slowly. It almost reminded him of the ocean, right after a storm, when the waves finally started to calm themselves…

_STIR._

“Shit!” Dan spun around on one foot and lunged forward to grab a wooden spoon, almost knocking himself over with the force of his unneeded urgency. He grabbed it and turned back around, more slowly this time, to stir the pasta.

Dan had made the mistake of not stirring his pasta at all only once - never again. He shuddered just thinking about it; the pasta had clumped together, and by the time Dan came back to drain it, the food looked more like a package of dry ramen than anything actually edible in the moment.

That wasn't even his worst cooking story - goes to show how shitty his life is.

Yikes.

\---

“Hey, Phil?” Dan shoveled mac & cheese into his mouth, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s as he waited for Phil to respond.

_Yes?_

“What if I just, like. Killed myself?"

_WHAT._

There was a pause.

_Why?_

Phil's question sounded calm, but Dan could sense the anger and concern just underneath the surface.

"I dunno. I guess? Just. What's the point of living?"

_Do you want a fucking list or something?_

"No, asshole," he grumbled, standing up to put his now empty bowl in the kitchen sink. Dan glared at the precariously stacked pile of dishes, then turned away towards the living room. "I just. Want to die. I think?"

 _Listen,_ Phil said, _I can't - technically - tell you what to do. But. I feel that, considering I'm the literal representation of your mental health -_

Dan snorted at that. "Right, because I have so much of that to be represented."

_\- oh, yeah, because that joke never gets old - I believe that I should. Inform you? Yeah, inform you, that killing yourself is probably not in your best interests._

Dan sighed. Again.

Sometimes, he felt like the real symptoms of his depressive moods were just a whole lot of sighing.

Oh well.

"Yeah. Alright, yeah. I'll hold off, I guess. Would you mind taking over for a bit? I kind of need a break, right about now.”

_Always._

Phil felt a slight jolt as he fell into the forefront. Dan relaxed into the back of his mind, and - three - two - one -

_‘Hey, do we have any food left?’_

… there it is.

“Backseat driver much?” Ah, it felt good to talk.

His hand, seemingly of its own volition, walked itself back towards the fridge and pulled open the door.

_‘Listen, Phil, when a man’s hungry, he’s gotta eat.’_

“Yeah, yeah.” Phil ripped his hand away from its absent-minded waving and reached into the second shelf, pulling out a box of blueberries and a vanilla yogurt.

_‘Awww… are you sure we can’t have the takeaway from last night?’_

Phil snorted. “Listen, buddy. My body - for now, yes, I know - my rules. Capiche?”

There was some indistinguishable grumbling, but Phil held steadfast, waiting patiently for an answer as he opened the lid on the yogurt.

_‘Fucking - fine. I guess.’_

Phil smiled serenely. “Thank you.”

\---

Phil popped the last spoonful of yogurty-blueberry in his mouth and grinned, teeth stretched wide.

“Mmm,” he said, drawing out the word, “that was some _good_ stuff, wasn’t it?”

 _‘Yeah, okay, okay, health is important, can I_ please _come back now?’_

Phil sighed. “You just like to yuck my yum.”

_‘Your yum is eating blueberries with yogurt - WITHOUT honey! So yes! Yes, I do.’_

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Dan felt the customary jolt in his stomach when he spun back to himself, and pressed a hand to his eyes to wave off the sudden nausea that threatened to overtake him.

“Y’know, I feel like there’s gotta be some way to do this without me wanting to throw up.”

Silence.

“What a fucking arsehole,” he muttered. “Why are you acting like such a child?”

 _Why are YOU acting like -_ Phil started to speak, intentionally speaking in a mocking voice, then stopped suddenly. _Wait. Why am I acting like such a child?_

Dan threw his hands up into the air. “That’s what I said!”

His face contorted into what Phil liked to laughingly call his “poker face” - lips all twisted to one side, eyes scrunched up, nose slightly crinkled. Dan preferred to think of it as his “thinking face”, if only because it sounded less condescending.

Phil wasn’t saying anything about his face now, even with how ridiculous he probably looked.

“Hmm…”

Dan paced back and forth through the room, Phil paced back and forth through his mind, and both of them tried to imagine what the cause could be.

“Holy shit!” Dan paused in his tracks. He felt the light tap-tap-tap of Phil's steps in his mind stop as he snapped to attention.

_What?_

“It's the medication.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> visit me on [tumblr](http://partlycharlie.tumblr.com)!


End file.
